I LOVE TREES

Bloemfontein Mediclinic car park - photo by Dianne Lang

I stood on the veranda outside my ward this morning. The air had a biting chill in it and frost lay thick upon the ground. I looked down on white frozen roofs from the second floor. It was a little after 07h30 and the road in front of the hospital was one continuous rush of cars going by … the driver’s probably late for work.

Then I saw it…a car park roof accommodating a large tree. The architects who draw the plans for this hospital must have loved nature, because one large and lonely tree in the parking lot would have been a lot easier to just chop down, instead of building the roofed section of the parking lot around the tree. I was impressed, so impressed in fact, that I took a photo of it.

I have always loved trees. I think the love of trees came from my childhood when my father would regularly pack up the family and take us camping in the forest.

My first altercation with authorities and trees came when I moved to Middelburg, in the Eastern Cape. I had founded a children’s home in Middelbrug for neglected, abandoned and abused children. The old streets are lined with beautiful blue gum trees which must have been at least a hundred years old. I loved taking the children for walks and teaching them about hugging trees when you feel sad. We used to hug the trees and often it would take up to twelve of us to hold hands and encircle a tree. Through the small town bush telegraph, it came to my notice that the municipality were going to cut down all the trees along one street, because the trees were interfering with the electricity and phone lines. Instead of just chopping away the branches that were a problem, they were going to chop the entire lot of trees down with chain saws. I did everything I could think of to get the municipality to just cut the offending branches, and to save the trees. I lost the fight and my heart ached for weeks after I saw those stumps that were left after the murderous municipal men had slaughtered our trees.

The second time I got into shit about a tree was when I was living in Letchworth Garden City. It is one of the first Garden Cities to be built in the world and the flowers and trees are indescribably beautiful. The housing was designed to fit into an enormous garden. Outside my favourite coffee shop was a paved area that had tables and chairs, so that in good weather people could sit with their favourite coffee or cake and do people watching – something I have become very good at. I love people watching and imagining if they are married, if they are happy, what kind of lives they live …my head is always busy. There was a beautiful oak tree that was planted in the middle of this paved area, and the birds were nesting in it. The peacefulness of sitting under the tree, sipping coffee, listening to the birds, and people watching was one of my favourite things to do.

One day I saw a wide black ribbon tied around the trunk of the tree, and hanging for a number of lower branches were 5 x 10 inch cardboards with printing on them. I took one off and read it. Someone was trying to save the tree. The council had approved the plans for a new shop-front, as well as an upgrade of the under-cover shopping area leading off from the square. The appalling thing about the approved plan is that the tree was to be removed and replaced with a water fountain. The card asked readers to contact the organisers of “Save Our Tree” if they were interested. I was horrified, and immediately called the number on the card. I was one of their soldiers and I was prepared to do anything to stop the tree being cut down. They were just as thrilled to get such an enthusiastic volunteer. The idea was for someone to constantly be at the tree and if the council arrived, to immediately start phoning on the phone tree. Each person had two other people to phone and since the town was fairly small, we could all get to ‘our’ tree within five minutes. We went twice and each time we held hands and surrounded the tree, forcing the municipal workers with their cherry pickers and chain saws to back off. The cops were called and we had a bit of a set-to, to put it mildly. We begged them not to cut the tree down… at least until the birds’ eggs had hatched and they have flown away. It worked … twice.

I don’t know what kind of birds they were. I love nature, but I have never taken an interest in naming animal species. For me a bird is a bird, a buck is a buck, a cat is a cat, a dog is a dog, and a zebra is a zebra. Very simple! These birds were small birds, and they had made beautiful nests.

We lost the fight on the third round. The birds had flown away. The council refused to review the removal of the tree that would be replaced with a water fountain. The police were called, police ribbon was used to cordon off the area and the men and their cherry pickers did their dastardly deed. The police protected the tree murderers … while we stood in silent homage to a tree that had brought so much joy, and life, into our world. There was not a dry eye around, not even the police could hide their tears. The council had won!

To those unknown architects of the Bloemfontein Mediclinic – thank you for caring about the trees.